Theron
The afternoon was clear, the autumn sun casting long shadows across the grounds. Theron was walking the path toward the woods, a place he usually avoided.
But Julian was there. And Vale was with him.
Theron told himself it was his duty to join them. But the truth was, he couldn't stay away. He was a moth drawn to a flame.
He found them near the edge of the forest.
Julian, his face flushed, was chasing leaves, his laughter echoing through the trees. Vale stood watching him, a quiet smile on his lips. The wind whipped Vale's hair across his face and pressed his thin wool coat against his lean frame.
He looked too delicate to be in such a wild, untamed place.
Theron had the sudden urge to take off his heavy greatcoat and wrap it around Vale's slender shoulders, to shield him from the wind, from everything.
"Your Grace," Vale said, noticing him. He inclined his head.
"Mr. Vale," Theron said. He watched Julian trying to catch a squirrel skittering up the trunk of an oak. "He seems… happier."
"He has a bright, inquisitive mind. He just needed to be reminded of it."
Theron knew Vale didn't mean for his words to sound like a condemnation, but they landed like one all the same.
He had treated Julian like a duty, not a child to be nurtured. He'd given Julian everything money could buy, but not what he actually needed. A father.
Julian gave up on the squirrel and darted ahead, disappearing into the trees, his shouts fading into the woods.
They were alone.
The air went thick, charged with the things left unsaid in the library, with the memory of that fleeting touch. They walked for a few paces, the crunch of leaves under their boots the only sound.
He had to say something. Anything to break the spell.
"You speak of philosophy and the classics as if you were raised on them," Theron said. "Your family… they were academics?"
Vale's gaze dropped. He let out a soft sigh.
"My father was a scholar, Your Grace. A brilliant man. He believed that a library was a greater inheritance than a fortune." The tutor's voice was low, tinged with nostalgia. "Unfortunately, his creditors did not agree."
"He passed some years ago," Vale continued, his eyes still downcast. "He left us with a house full of books and a mountain of debt. We had to sell everything. The house, the library… all of it." He looked up at Theron and his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.
"I have known a life of comfort, but I am not a stranger to loss. That is why I chose this path. To impart the knowledge my father gave me is the only way I have of honoring him."
Theron looked at this beautiful, intelligent man and he felt a surge of fierce, protective anger. The world was a brutal, ugly place that broke beautiful things.
"It is a noble choice," Theron said, his voice rough with an emotion he couldn't name.
They reached a crumbling stone wall. It was no more than three feet high. Vale stopped, looking at the rough stones as if they were a fortress wall. He placed a hand on the top, hesitating.
Theron vaulted over the wall easily and landed on the other side. He turned, expecting Vale to follow.
But he still stood there, looking at him. That soft, full mouth was slightly parted.
Theron held out his hand. "Allow me."
Vale placed his hand in Theron's.
The contact was a shock.
His skin was warm. Not soft, as he'd imagined, but firm, the bones slender. Theron pulled gently and Vale swung himself over the wall with surprising agility.
He was on the other side now, standing close. Too close. But neither of them let go.
The world seemed to fall away.
There was only the heat of their hands, the cool air and the drumming of Theron's heart. He looked down at their joined hands, then up into Vale's face. He saw the pulse fluttering in the delicate skin of his throat.
He held on, his thumb stroking the back of Vale's knuckles.
He watched Vale's soft mouth part as he took in a short, sharp breath.
Then, Vale gently slid his hand from Theron's grasp, his gaze dropping to the ground.
"Thank you, Your Grace," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he took a step back, putting a safe, respectable distance between them.
Theron stood frozen, staring at his empty hand, his skin still tingling from the touch.
He had crossed a line. And Vale had let him do it.
Vale hadn't recoiled. He hadn't flinched. He had simply… allowed it.